


Down from the divide

by vonherder



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Casual Discussion of Past Violence, Homelessness, M/M, Manipulative Nick Fury, Nick Fury Knows All, Nick Fury won't take any of your shit Clint, Past Violence, Phil Coulson & Tony Stark Friendship, Phil Coulson Is a Good Bro, Reluctant Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, a little bit of Aimee!, a not inconsiderable amount of cursing, lots and lots of angst, these two idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1539161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonherder/pseuds/vonherder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark has spent most all of his life searching for his soulmate. Created an entire database of Soulmarks in the hopes of finding them. Maybe he just didn't want to be found.</p><p>A Reluctant Soulmate AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~Look! I wrote a real summary instead of using part of the story like I usually do!~~
> 
> Title from the poem _Home Again_ by Wallace Stevens.
> 
> So... This is going to be a thing that I work on when I have no time to work on the other things, because this is 98% written.. It's just written down on paper, in a note book that I'd forgotten about since August. So.. I'll probably just type it up and post a chapter or two when I get to bogged down to work on the things like _Cherry Chocolate_ that haven't been pre-written.
> 
> For this prompt: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/16524.html?thread=36131724#t36131724

A screen flared up in front of him with little fanfare and no formal announcement. Just a screen, a video. Grainy and fuzzy, security feed. An alley in the dark, five figures dragged another through the muck, garbage and snow. She was fighting.

Tony sat frozen, screwdriver stilled and poised above his forgotten project, and watched on.

He couldn't see her, hidden behind them. A wall of sleazy, track suited thugs and he couldn't see her. A sixth figure shot into frame. A berserker, a flurry of movement with a baseball bat. Three fell like boulders, one didn't get back up, the other two turned on him. 

Forgotten, the woman, fled. 

Tony watched on as the set of the man's shoulders relaxed just slightly, though he lost no momentum as another of them fell. He wasn't playing to win, he was giving her a window. He was only the distraction and he kept fighting even as his weapon was ripped away and turned on him.

Tony winced an glanced away,“Jarvis.”

The screen flickered and sped forward, pausing and zooming in on a single frame. The man was clutching at his side, one hand braced on the wall. His wrist caught the light, vivid mark visible in the street light.

Tony's breath caught. He knew it, the five bruise-like marks on the inside of the right wrist, identical to his own. His mark, his match. 

“Can you track him?” Tony asked, dropping everything to reach out and begin manipulating the screen, zooming in and out, fast-forwarding and rewinding, looking for and clue or sign as to who he could be. “Where did he go? Is he okay?” He fired off questions, his hands a flurry of movement as he searched the video for _anything_ , “Jesus, J, where is he?”

“Brooklyn, sir. The video is approximately seven minutes and forty-three seconds old.”

“Jarvis, bring the car around,” Tony shot up, already heading for the elevator. “We're gonna need blankets and some bandages. Do you know where the video is from? I need the exact address. Find the best still of his face, so I can—”

“I already have sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. _You guys_. I really didn't expect anyone to read this at all and that I got home and checked my inbox and _you guys_... 
> 
> So, here, have a surprise chapter for surprising me because y'all are great

Hours, he'd spent _hours_ running up and down each side street and back alley for blocks. 

Shops were beginning to open, sidewalks busy with people stumbling out into the snow on their way to work. Air scented with fresh coffee and baked goods and thick with fat, slowly falling clumps of snow. 

He had spent hours, scrambling up and down each block, throwing himself through every shop and 24-hour diner he could reach, flashing his phone at strangers, _begging_ for something, _anything_. He had spent hours drenched to the bone with melted snow and sweat, desperately searching for any sign of the man.

Armed with only a phone and a blurry photo of a man in profile, he had spent hours searching and shivering and steadily going numb in the freezing night. He had been frantic and desperate, rushing through the city streets, scarcely stopping.

Hours he had been searching, fruitless, with his resolve and his hope steadily diminishing as the frozen dawn dragged on. He wouldn't have made it, not out in this cold, not in a t-shirt and jeans. He wouldn't have made it through the night with those injuries, not alone and freezing. 

In the early morning light, he despaired, tears dripping down his cheeks with the sweat and snow as he ran.

He had been at it for hours before he finally stopped, sagging against the wall of a building. Aching, panting, tried and desperate enough to cry, Tony finally paused. Long enough to hear movement down the alley next to him. Long enough to catch a cough and a groan over the sounds of the street.

Long enough to find him, buried beneath a ratty coat and a layer of snow, stuffed down as far as he could manage behind a dumpster. 

Tony had the limp man cradled to his chest, bloodied face pressed into the crook of his neck, and waited for Happy to bring the car around. At some point he had shucked his own coat in favour of wrapping it around the man's shivering, shaking shoulders.

Distantly, Tony was aware that he was crying and speaking against the man's crown. 

“You have to wake up, you hear me?” he was shakily whispering, rocking them back and forth. “I've got big plans for the two of us. Big plans. Just you wait.”

Close by, tires squealed to a stop and an engine was silenced.

“You hear that? Your chariot awaits,” Tony rubbed his numb hands up and down the man's back, feeling over each knob of his spine and following the protruding lines of his ribs, “You gotta wake up princess, _please_.”

“Boss? Mr. Stark?!” Happy hollered, getting closer.

“Come one, please, I need you to wake up,” Tony whispered, pushing back just enough to cradle the man's face in his hands. He gently stroked over his cheeks, voice this and trembling, “Please, I need you, please. Just wake up, just give me that, okay? Please.”

“Boss? Where are you?!”

Tony choked out a sob, gently shaking him, “Please, don't do this to me. Not now, please, gods! You can't leave me like this!”

“Boss? Tony?”

He pulled the man closer, heaving and shaking, “Over here!”

It was a blur as Happy swept the unconscious man into his arms and rushed back to the car, Tony on his heels. He was cold and then he was warm, wrapped in blankets with the man heavy and limp against his chest. He was still and stiff in the cold dank of a back alley and then they were speeding off through the streets. 

He was alone and then he wasn't, bundled into the back of a speeding car with his soulmate in his arms.

He carefully gripped the man's arm, wrists pressed flush against each other, pulse-to-pulse and mark-to-mark. 

Briefly, as the city sped by in bright flashes of sound and snowflakes, he felt lashes blink against the damp skin of his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only going to get worse from here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever accidentally click on the wrong story and post a new chapter to a thing that shouldn't have a new chapter?
> 
> I totally accidentally posted this to _You'll have such a nice surprise_... 
> 
> I should look at what I'm doing, jeez.

Clint stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling for a few bleary moments, confused and fuzzy and heavy. Everything—his limbs, his chest, his head—was numb and unfeeling in a way that meant, after the drugs wore off, everything would ache and hurt.

There was a soft sound from the end of his bed. Breaths, slow and steady with sleep. 

He shifted, carefully raised his head enough to look down the bed at the sleeping stranger. 

He looked _expensive_. The shoes propped up on the end of the bed looked like they must have been worth more than Clint had seen in the last five years and his _jeans_ looked _tailored_. He rolled his eyes and dropped his head back down.

He needed to leave. He wasn't going to stick around like a pampered pomeranian for some rich douche who thought playing charitable to some homeless trash might get him back on talk shows and magazine covers. That was a pile of steaming shit that Clint didn't need to deal with.

With trembling, morphine weakened arms, he slowly pushed himself up and swung his battered and bruised legs over the side of the bed. He stared down and the floor and sighed. He was half bare in a crisp, white hospital gown and he had no idea where to find his clothes and shoes. He wouldn't make it to the elevators before he was tugged back to the room.

He turned his glare at the sleeping man. And paused. He hadn't actually looked at the sleeping man's face yet. Or his hands where they were folded together over his steadily rising chest, or the long sleeves of his white, grime streaked shirt. He was stained and grimy, the ends of his sleeves coloured rusty brown with dried blood. His knuckles and nails were creased and caked with dirt and that same russety stain. 

He might've been handsome if he were awake, or if he were at peace. His face was hard, not sleep relaxed as he should've been. He looked troubled, a small crease between his brows, the line of his mouth was grim even in sleep. What might've been laugh lines at the corners of his eyes looked like deep cracks in his skin and his goatee was a little worse for wear.

His features were crumpled and troubled and Clint found himself wanting to wake the man, even slowly reaching out to shake his foot, despite knowing the trouble it would bring. Clint swallowed and frowned. He wondered what colour his eyes were, if they were kind and bright with humour. Or if, perhaps, he always looked so grim.

The man flailed awake at the first touch to his shoe, arms swinging out and away to brace himself on the chair. He stared at Clint with comically wide eyes, still a little sleep mussed and bleary. “Hi,” he said, voice honey warm and a little breathless. 

“Uh, hi.”

He stared up into Clint's eyes with a look of wonder, “You're awake?”

“No, you're hallucinating,” he dead panned. “I'm here to talk to you about jesus.”

He chuckled, relaxing back into the chair, hands fidgeting in his lap, “How do you feel?”

“I don't know yet, drugs haven't entirely worn off,” he said with a shrug, watching as the man tugged and toyed with his sleeves. “Why am I here?”

He sighed and hesitated a moment, “You got the crap kicked out of you and you were going to freeze to death if you didn't get to a hospital.”

“Okay, so what are you doing here?”

He gave a helpless shrug, still staring up at Clint like he was a gift, “I couldn't leave you alone.”

Clint rolled his eyes and turned away to hide his blush. He couldn't get used to the way the man was looking at him. It would be over soon enough. But it was nice, for the moment, to pretend that this was all okay and that it could last.

“You realize that I can't pay for this, right?”

“You don't have to.”

“Are you going to?”

“Well, yes.”

Clint frowned at him, “Why?”

“You needed help,” he said, carefully, still toying with his sleeves a little, tugging them up and down his arms. It was a little cute, he had to admit. Endearing, even.

“I hear an and.”

He frowned, thoughtfully, biting at his lip. “What is your name?” he eventually asked, voice low and soft.

“Clint.”

“I'm Tony,” he said, extending his hand, wrist up and barred to the light. He gave a small smile, that ever present wonder brightening his kind brown eyes just a little bit more, “It's nice to finally meet you.”

He breath caught in his chest, with a sharp pain like cracked sternums and broken ribs. Everything slowly wound to a stop, all the plans and ideas spinning in his head about the man and his pretty brown eyes. He stared at the outstretched hand with disdain and shook his head, “No.”

The muscles in the arm twitched as the man gave a bodily flinch. He didn't withdraw right away, still staring up in confusion, “No? No what?”

“You know damn well _what_ ,” Clint ground out, glaring down at him. “That,” he glared pointedly at the barred mark, “means fuck all. It doesn't mean a damn thing to me.”

Tony flinched as if he'd been shocked and slowly drew his hand back, “But, why? Clint, I don't—”

“Because I don't want you.”Clint watched in triumph as the man's face crumpled and he slumped back into the chair. “Get the fuck out.”

“Clint, I don't understand,” he said in a small, confused voice. “Why? Christ, Clint—”

He snarled viciously, oh how he _hated_ himself for giving the man his real name. “Because I don't want you. I _don't need you_ ,” he glared Tony down with as much venom as he could manage. “Get out.”

Tony snapped his mouth shut. He stared up, hurt written across his face and Clint glared back, unyielding. He gnawed at his lip and nodded, “Alright.” He scrubbed a dirty hand over his face and rose.

Triumphant, Clint watched him duck his face in humiliation and slump toward the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To answer your question, yes. I am going to leave it here.
> 
> For _reasons_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, okay.. Here we go. Next part down.
> 
> I like writing Clint. Except when I don't. Which is a lot of the time. He hurts to write because I know how all of this ends and all of the muddy puddles it get's dragged through--and jagged cliffs it get's tossed down--on the way there. Gah.

Clint could have cried. He was hungry, exhausted and aching, very nearly dead on his feet after the snowy trek from the hospital, and so damn frustrated that he could have cried.

It hadn't been hard, escaping the hospital. He'd snagged the coat off the back of Tony's chair after the man had left the room and nicked a few articles of clothing and a pair of shoes from the surrounding rooms. No one looked at him twice without the hospital gown.

Even venturing into the cold hadn't been so bad. The wind didn't blast snow into his face and the steady fall from the days before had slowed to a stop. Even if it hadn't, he'd never worn a coat so warm as the one he'd stolen that he was certain he'd have been just fine in a blizzard.

But the sidewalks were packed thick with snow and he'd grabbed sneakers, not boots. His trek was slow going and the pain meds had begun to wear off not far past the hospital doors. But it would be fine, he had everything he needed waiting for him.

 _Had_ had everything.

Luckily the hospital was close to the run down warehouse he usually slept in. It was sealed up tight and empty—a godsend, all things considered—and he kept his pack there, hidden along with an old mattress and a pile of stolen blankets that he'd grown used to sleeping on. 

It was as near a home as he ever thought he'd find. It was warm a safe, dry and relatively clean. More than anything, it was his.

He sagged against the wall in defeat. 

His home had been violated and trashed, blankets long gone, mattress stained with come and cigarette burns. A trail of his ratty clothes lead toward a busted window at the far end of the building. 

That pack had held what little was left of his life—clothes, food, money—and it was all gone. 

He slid to the floor, and pressed his face into his hands. How could he be so stupid? Staying in one place, a building so obviously abandoned that it may as well have had a vacancy sign hanging out front. It was only a matter of time before others began to take shelter there, even if only for a few rounds of delinquency and vandalism.

“Clint?”

And then there was _that_. He groaned, knocking his aching head back against the wall, “Fucking christ, did you put a tracker on me?!”

“No! Of course not,” Tony looked a little offended beneath all of the worry. Clint really didn't care for the combination. “I put a tracker on my coat and then you stole it.”

Clint glared up at him, “Because that makes me feel so much fucking better about you stalking me.”

“I have every right to—”

“If you finish that sentence, I will seriously harm you,” Clint threatened. He pushed away from the wall and stood, stripping off the jacket as he went, “You don't have _any_ right.”

“Like hell I don't. I was worried, Clint! You are injured and concussed, it is freezing and don't take that off, you'll get sick!” Tony reached for him, all at once furious and fearful.

He threw the jacket in Tony's face and shouldered past, “Right, _now_ you're fucking worried.”

“Now? Of course I'm worried _now_!” He scoffed and hurried after him, “I've done nothing but worry about you! I've spent most of my _life_ searching and worrying about you, Clint. You can't tell me that that means nothing.”

“It means nothing,” he tossed over his shoulder as he neared the door. Kicked at the scraps of cloth littering the floor and sighed. They'd ripped up and burned what few clothes he's collected and scattered the remaining scraps around the wreckage. 

“Clint stop,” Tony begged, grabbing at his arm.

He jerked out of the man's grasp, spinning to face him, furious. “Don't touch me. Don't you dare,” he spat. “Just leave me alone.”

Tony shook his head, vehemently, “No, c'mon, I'm not letting you leave like this.”

“Excuse you? You're not going to _let_ me?” Clint glared at the man, “You do not get to do that. You do not get to pretend that I matter, not now. Not after all of this time.”

“Clint, I can't let you die out here. Please,” he offered the jacket, brown eyes begging. “Let me take care of you.”

“Buddy,” Clint began, backing away so he didn't reach out and punch the stubborn bastard and hurt himself even more, “you better leave me the hell alone.”

“No,” Tony shook his head and followed him toward the door. “Please, Clint. Come with me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Why?! Why do you think?” Clint screamed, and let loose his fury and frustration on the man. “Because you wouldn't have looked twice! Rich boy like you,” he spat, “wouldn't have looked twice at me, bleeding out at your feet. If it hadn't been for the mark, you'd have walked right by and let me die.”

He flinched back, “No, Clint—”

“Are you going to deny it? Say that you'd have carried me to the hospital if I'd just been another sad sack on a street corner?” Clint spun and went for the door, only to be spun back by a firm hand on his wrist.

“And what about you?” Tony glared, backing him against the solid wall. “If I'd turned out to be just some rich fuck? Would you have turned away? If I did carry you, would you have looked at me twice or just spat in my face the same way you did? Would you accept the help of some rich, pompous stranger over _me_? If I weren't marked?”

Clint fumed but stayed put, averting his glare.

Tony heaved a great sigh, and backed away, “Clint, I'm sorry. Whatever it is that you hate me for, I'm sorry. But I'm here now and I'm not going to let you go out there and freeze to death just to prove that you don't need me.”

Clint gnawed at his lip. Maybe the man did have a point.

“Just... Let me help you.”

“I'm not going to be your soulmate.”

Tony sagged dropping his gaze to the floor, “Okay. Fine. Then just... Let me help.”

“How?”

“I know people,” he said with a shrug, still not meeting Clint's eyes. “I can find you a good job, something to do. You can stay in my home until you've got enough money saved up and you can leave. Let me give you that and then... I'll leave, okay?”

Clint sighed, ready to shake his head and protest, but Tony finally looked up.

“Please, just give me that. If I can't—if we're not going to happen, just give me some peace of mind. Let me make sure that you're safe and then I'll go. And you'll never hear from me again,” Tony begged, a little desperate. “Please, Clint.”

He sighed. He looked so genuinely desperate and terrified, sounded so earnest and sincere, that Clint found himself slowly cracking under his gaze. The cold was beginning to prickle at his bare arms and it felt like days since he last ate something. And the idea of sleeping in a bed sounded far better than anything he'd heard in a long time.

But, _still_.

He frowned and dropped his chin to his chest, partially in defeat, mostly so he didn't have to look Tony in the eye any more. Against his better judgement, Clint nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my own peace of mind.. Tony wasn't actually going to finish that sentence with, "I have every right to stalk you." It was probably going to be more like, "I have every right to be worried and to track my jacket because it technically got stolen and I just wanted very badly to find it and make sure that it was okay and not hurt to badly or anything."
> 
> But it's Tony. We all probably knew that already.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here. Have a itty bitty update.
> 
> I knew the next few weeks would be crazy busy, I just didn't anticipate how busy. But I have, like, thirty-six hours before I go back to work, so there may be another update in the immediate future. I like having this story done in some capacity, even if it's just in pencil on paper. All I have to do is type. And feel sad. 
> 
> Yeah. Also, POV and chapter lengths will be really inconsistent because that's what's in the notebook and it's just easier for everyone if I listen to me-of-the-past. Me-of-the-past is usually right about these things.

For the sixth time in as many minutes, Tony snapped his mouth shut and turned away. Beside him, Clint rested silently, cheek pressed to the cool glass and his pretty eyes closed.

He'd spent the entire ride thinking of something to say, running over words and lines and pleads in his head. Anything to convince the other man that maybe it wouldn't be the end of the world to give him a chance. 

And, each time Tony would turn toward him, ready to speak, his breath would catch in his throat and his every thought would leave him. He would be rendered speechless, able to do little more than trace Clint's profile against the cool light of the passing city and memorize the way his lashes rested against his cheeks.

He looked down, fumbling with a tiny hole burned into his jeans. He'd never been good in the face of rejection. Oh, he could pretend. When it came right down to it, to being cruelly rejected without explanation or cause, he could act with the best of them. But not today, apparently. 

“Do you always think this loud, or am I just special?”

He flinched. Beside him, he heard Clint shift but he refused to look, “I don't know how you want me to answer that.”

Clint sighed heavily, “Unfortunately, I think you just did.”

Tony scrubbed a hand harshly over his face, “How in the hell do you expect me to handle this situation? What am I supposed to do or say to make you happy with all of this?”

“As long as you're doing and saying things in the general area surrounding me, I can guarantee that I won't be happy.”

“Why?” He hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees, chancing a glance at the other man. “Why do you hate me so damn much? I've never—”

“Exactly,” Clint cut him off. “You _never_. You weren't there, not when I needed you. You never did anything to help me before, you never showed up, you never found me.”

“Clint—” 

“I mean, why do you even think that you want this? Me? You're rich enough, you could have—probably have had—anyone and everyone. Why do you want _me_?” he spat, gesturing in harsh, aborted movements. “Can you say, without a shadow of a doubt, that you would have chosen me? Without the mark?”

Tony sagged back against the seat, weary and tired. He could see the Tower up the street, looming high over them. Almost home. He swallowed his dread and disappointment, closing his eyes. “Clint, I... No, I can't say that. You know that I can't.”

“Exactly. So just stop.”

“Christ, Clint, this doesn't affect just you.”

“And your point?”

He let his forehead thunk against the window next to him. Maybe Clint _did_ have a point. He'd given up. Looked for so long that he'd given up any and all hope of ever finding his match. To say that he reacted to that realization with any sort of aplomb would be a grievous lie. He'd be the first to say that he'd fucked his way through his late twenties, couldn't deny the photographic evidence any more than he could say that he hadn't give up hope. A year after Match Finder had gone live—in the face of how many millions of people connecting, and no match of his own?—he'd resigned himself to a life alone. 

He gnawed at his lower lip and squeezed his eye shut as tightly as he could manage. 

“Are we almost there?” Clint asked, impatiently.

He nodded, “Yeah. Just up the block.”

A beat of silence and then, “Are you fucking _kidding me_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned above, times is gonna be crazy busy. If I get on the internet I usually just check my work email and glance at tumblr and then I'm off again. I don't even engage, I just glance and go. So, if you want to nudge me to remind me to try and update things, tumblr is probably the place to do it. I can't promise that I'll have a chance to respond or do anything with it, but I will at least see it before I check here and maybe remember to make time to not be work-working and to be leisure-working instead. http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in less than 24 hours? _And_ after an entire bottle of elderberry mead? 
> 
> I am on fire!
> 
> Or drunk. Whatever. Same thing right?
> 
> I love not being at work.

Clint angrily paced back and forth in front of the tall windows, glaring at the man where he slumped against the bar. He knew the name, Stark. He remembered it from before, some big shot weapons maker or something. Bombs and guns and things Clint tended to stay away from unless absolutely necessary. The son of somebody who did something important.

All that he could remember about the man was he was a rich, arrogant whoremonger with a penchant for alcohol induced parties and explosions. At least, that's what he remembered from the one time he read one of Natasha's girly magazines. He very nearly flinched at the memory. Not long after that quiet day, lounging around her apartment, Stark had disappeared from the radar and himself shortly after.

Sometimes, when the nights were cold and he was too hungry to sleep, he would think about that day. He would remember himself curled up on Natasha's couch while she rattled about the kitchen, cursing in Russian. He could remember the scent of pies and the way Natasha's accent would slip when she was frustrated.

At the other end of the room, Tony cleared his throat, readying himself to speak or maybe reminding Clint of his presence. 

“You're a fucking _Stark_ ,” he accused before Tony could get anything out.

He nodded slowly, guiltily, “To be fair, I had assumed that you recognized me.”

Clint rolled his eyes, “What about my circumstances makes you think that I would have had time to ever watch any shitty TV or read any celebrity gossip column?”

Tony shrugged, “I don't know! I'm pretty aware of the sheer amount of shit that is published about me on a daily basis. I know how often my face is plastered across some magazine cover. Unfortunately for everyone involved, may face is pretty damn hard to run away from.”

“Great. Really,” Clint bristled, kicking at the Ottoman closest to him. “Even after you're gone I'm going to be stuck with you.”

“Listen, Clint, I really meant it when I said that I would leave you alone,” Tony said, quietly. “I have a couple of ideas for you, for jobs and such. As soon as one of those pans out, I'm gone. Out of New York and out of your life.” He shrugged and looked down at his shoes, “And besides, once I'm out of the city people will stop caring. I won't be here to stalk and photograph, so I won't be in the papers or news. You won't be bombarded by me.”

“Well thank fuck for that,” Clint mumbled, watching the man flinch from the corner of his eye. He took a measure of satisfaction with wince the man gave. 

But he didn't retreat. That was what kept Clint firing off shots as often as he could manage. He must have known that there was no possible way for him to win, that he and Clint would never be a thing. But, still, he stayed close, ready to offer up kind words and pleading looks.

The entire thing was stomping on his already frayed nerves.

“Why are you even doing this?” he asked, throwing his hands up. “Playing valiant knight to the peasant. After you pamper me, and fix my scrapes, are you _really_ going to let me alone?”

Tony was silent for a moment, staring off through the windows, seemingly trying to come to some sort of conclusion. Eventually, he gave a jerky, decisive nod, “Yeah. I will. I'll leave you alone.”

“Why? What in the hell is in this for you?”

Tony finally looked at him, eyes bright and sad. He smiled a tight smile and shrugged, “The way I see it, I have two options here. I can lose you, or I can let you go.” He huffed a helpless, lifeless laugh and looked down at his feet, “Rather than have you run and spend the rest of my days fearing for you, I'd prefer leave knowing that you're safe, you know? That you truly don't need me. 

“Peace of mind, and all that.” He offered up one last, tight, smile and turned toward the elevators, doors already open and waiting for him, “I've, uh, got some work to do. Calls to make and all that. You can hang out up here or go check out the guest floor, or whatever. I'm ordering pizza for dinner, so just give Jarvis your order and it'll be sent up when it arrives.”

He opened his mouth to throw out some scathing remark, some biting insult, but the elevator doors didn't close fast enough. He had a single, split-second moment to watch as Tony's face crumpled and stumbled against the back wall. A split-second of a moment to watch as a man's heart was broken and shattered into bits.

It didn't feel as good as Clint had hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said at the end of the last chapter, the easiest way to reach me during the busy time of year is on tumblr: http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/
> 
> If you want me to explain and thing that may or may not be expanded upon later in the story, I am totally down for that and whatnot. Or whatever. I dunno. I really am drunk, so this could get fun and junk.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah... A weekend without work. Mostly. Maybe I can start getting back to posting something on a vaguely regular basis mayhap?
> 
> Probably not, but it's a nice thought.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, face pressed into his knees. His ass ached and his back was stiff, his cheeks still hot and eyes a brilliant red. He thought, perhaps, that he should ask Jarvis what Clint was doing, if he looked like he was in pain, but thought better of it.

He rubbed a hand over his face and let his head fall back against the wall. 

He wanted to call Happy over, have someone to listen, who understood to some extent. It wasn't the same, waiting for a soulmate who wasn't yet ready, who didn't yet have a mark, but Happy would understand enough. 

Tony grimaced, remembering the night that Happy had received his own mark, a bloom in the centre of his chest from a bullet that had been meant for Tony. A bullet fired by one of his oldest friends, stopped only by a prototype of a vest that he'd forced Happy into on a whim.

Left with a permanent bruise and the awful, creeping dread of the day his soulmate would gain her own mark.

Tony thunked his head against the wall once and blinked up at the ceiling. He dreaded it too, whatever moment would leave Pepper with a mark like that.

He liked the idea of them, Pepper and Happy, always had. He'd sometimes fantasize about it, in the moments before sleep. He'd imagine some future where it wouldn't hurt her like that. Maybe she would spill something down her shirt. Maybe she would stumble into his shoulder, hit him at just the right angle. Maybe she would catch a football wrong. Maybe it would hit her in the chest hard enough to knock the wind from her and she would look up, laughing, and catch Happy's eyes. And she would just _know_.

But those dreams were always dashed. Pepper didn't spill, she didn't stumble and she certainly didn't play football. It could never be that simple for her.

“Jarvis, can you call Pepper for me?”

“Of course,” he said, softly.

A few moments later, Pepper's voice echoed around the small compartment. “No,” she said, decisively. 

He blinked, “No what?”

“No, you're not getting out of the meetings on Thursday.”

He chuckled, “I'll always find a way.” On the other end of the line, he could hear her shuffling papers and felt somewhat ashamed for interrupting her, even knowing that she'd have hung up by then if she'd been truly busy. “That wasn't why I called.”

“No?”

He shook his head and stared up at the ceiling tiles, “Just needed to hear you, I guess.”

“Where are you? There's an echo.”

“I... might be hiding in the elevator.”

He could hear the gears turning in her head, searching for some reasonable explanation as to why, and he had to smile.

“You're hiding in the elevator.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I, uh, found him.” Tony cleared his throat and clarified, “My match. I found him, finally.”

She was silent a beat, and then, “Tony! That's wonderful! What's his name? Is he from New York? What does he do? Does—”

“He hates me, Pep.”

“He... What?”

“He refused me.”

What do you mean?” she asked, sounding genuinely confused. Matches were never refused, never. Soulmates were soulmates and that was that. It was just... A thing. Never refused, and yet. “Oh, Tony,” she faltered for words.

“So, there's that.”

Pepper was silent a moment more and then, “Come out here early. We'll skip the meeting on Friday, go blow stuff up. Do something dangerous. Eat gelato for breakfast.”

He chuckled, “I though the meeting was on Thursday.”

“How else was I supposed to get you out here on time?”

He pressed his face into his hands and laughed, shaking and trembling. He missed her, dearly. Missed warm sun and ocean breezes. Missed her soft smiles and the gentle teasing in her voice. He sucked in a deep breath, “That sounds great and all, but...”

“You need to be there?”

He let out a heavy sigh, “Yeah. I'm needed here.”

Pepper made a small sound, “What did you do, Tony?”

“I could let him just...” He shook his head, “He got the shit kicked out of him, saving a girl. He's homeless, Pep. Nowhere to go, no one to help him, and I couldn't just—I had to help him, somehow.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, “I couldn't just leave him.”

“Tony...”

“I _know_ , okay? I know. But he needs help. I'm going to find him a job, maybe with Phil or something. Let him stay at the Tower until he's on his feet. Just so I can...” He frowned and gnawed at his lip, “I have to know that he's okay. That he's safe. Does that make sense?”

“None of this makes any sense.”

Tony nodded, “Yeah. I know.”

On the other end of the line, a new, muffled voice said something about a meeting and Pepper began shuffling through her papers again with a quiet, “Just a minute.”

“Needed elsewhere?”

She sighed, “I'm sorry. I can cancel if—” 

“No, no,” he smiled warmly though she couldn't see. “I didn't expect to catch you at all. To get to talk to you at all was... Nice.”

“Come back as soon as you can, alright? I miss you.”

“Miss you, too. Have a good meeting, Ms. Potts.”

She chuckled, sadly, “Goodbye, Mr. Stark.”

He sat in the silence for a few more minutes, gnawing at his lip and wringing his hands. He didn't quite know what to do. Where to go. He couldn't go upstairs, couldn't face Clint and his biting words. Couldn't take any more of Happy's time, not when the man deserved some time off. Bruce was still in India. Phil didn't take personal calls during work days. He couldn't call Rhodey. Not for a few more weeks, anyway. He was still overseas, and, besides, Tony promised that he would wait to bother him.

He thought of all the tests that he could begin running on the new material he'd been developing. He could finish up those improvements to the body armour that Fury had asked for or finish up the newest StarkPhone update. He could keep himself busy until tomorrow, and maybe it would help.

He sighed, heavily, and rubbed at his eyes, “How many, Jarvis?”

“607,346,988, sir.”

Tony swallowed and nodded, pulling himself up, stiff and aching. He slumped against the wall, “Well, we better get to work, J.”

“Of course, sir,” he said, and the elevator began to move.

He had plenty of plans swimming about his head, but first he had to call Phil and set up an interview. Get through step one, and then he'd figure it out from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can bother me on tumblr or whatever. If you feel like it
> 
> http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that the theme song for this story thus far is _Set the Sails_ by Dan Mangan https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8BPMOtmZoNs
> 
> Also. I've been drinking, so there may be spelling mistakes. Point them to me, if you feel like it. I would appreciate it much.

Below him, the city moved and pulsed, beginning to glow and gleam in the darkening night. He'd missed this, being high enough to see everything. _Free_ wasn't quite the right word. It felt like—it was home. Safe. _Right_. 

Clint sat on the edge of some thick, snow covered planter, arms crossed atop the heavy glass barrier that ran along the building's edge. Below, the city was a glowing swirl of steam and snow. Beautiful and distant. This view, this vantage point, he could get used to. But he couldn't stay, he didn't think that he could—

“Hey.”

He whipped around, a harsh glare at the ready, “What?”

Tony somehow managed to keep himself from flinching. Mostly. “I, uh, wanted to see how you were doing,” he said, keeping his distance, keeping close to the door and his escape. He cast a weary glance out over the city and shivered.

Clint rolled his eyes, “I'm fine.”

“Alright. The prescription from the hospital is inside,” he said, carefully not looking toward Clint. “Jarvis will help you find it if you need it.”

“Gee, thanks. Really. Anything else?” Clint spat.

Tony sighed in defeat, “I, um, I found a job for you, I think.”

“I am not going to work for you.”

“No, that's not what—” He broke off with a pitiful laugh, hysterical and broken and pained. Tony leaned his back heavily against the door and crossed his arms tightly over his chest, “Okay, we're going to need to—I'm really trying here, Clint. Trying to stay out of your way. Trying to do right by you. Trying my damnedest to not make this any worse than it already goddamn is.”

Clint glanced away quickly, eyes scanning over the city again. The icy wind sent a shiver down his spine and he pulled his stolen coat a little bit tighter around himself.

“I know, okay? I get it. We aren't ever going to be a _we_ ,” Tony said, all at once strangled and pleading. “But I am still trying to help, and I can't do that if you keep throwing this all back in my face at every damn turn. Alright?”

Clint ground his teeth and nodded once, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he said with a heavy sigh.

Clint shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. Snowflakes stung at his cheeks as they spun around him and he didn't dare look over at Tony. He didn't think he could handle meeting his eyes and everything that rested there. Didn't want to see the fear, disappointment, that he'd carried since the hospital. Didn't want to see the downward turn of his mouth, the desperate twitch to his jaw. 

Snowy, wind ruffled hair and—

He cleared his throat, “So, job?”

“Yeah. With SHEILD.”

He nodded, grudgingly intrigued, “Security, huh? What makes you think I'd be into something like that? That I could even do it?”

“What you did for her. That girl. You protect people,” Tony said, simply. “You'd be good at it.”

Clint frowned down at his hands, but didn't refute the man. It wasn't Tony's place to know. He didn't protect people. He did the opposite; he put them in danger. He left them for dead. 

“Anyway, Fury'll be here on Tuesday morning. It won't be a real interview, or anything, and he won't officially hire you until you're all healed up, but...” Tony sighed once more, “You're pretty much hired.”

Clint nodded and tried to imagine himself as a bodyguard or whatever it was that they would have in doing. It just seemed so...wrong. Every bit of it seemed completely and entirely wrong. He was never cut out for that line of work, for getting to be the hero. The good guy.

“Um, pizza is almost here. And, like I said, Jarvis will get you anything you need or want or whatever. So you can just ask, I guess.”

Clint nodded, beginning to shiver in the frigid night air. “Yeah,” he looked over in time to watch the heavy door click shut behind Tony. “Thanks.”

He swallowed again and glanced down at his hands. They were rough and scarred, calloused and stained by unspeakable work and deeds. Dirty. Not the hands of a protector, but the hands of someone who did the dirty work. The jobs that no one else wanted to think about needing done. Unseen and unnoticed. 

He sighed and leaned heavily back against the glass wall. He know what SHIELD did. All the pies that they'd plunged their dirty, little hands into. He knew, _exactly_ , what they would want him doing. The life that they would probably send him back into. The one that landed him here, aching and cold. 

He imagined himself with a weapon in his hands again and his frown deepened even further. That wasn't quite right either.

Not one bit of it was _right_.

He tugged the coat tighter around himself and hunched inward, beginning to shiver and shake. This is what he deserved. This was where he belonged, out in the cold, alone. Not a home. Not a job or safety or _help_. No view of the streets below. No, what he deserved was to stare up at them from the gutter.

He was trash and he knew where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also bother me on tumblr and junk if you want http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/
> 
> I'm more likely to answer secret things over there.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK-ISH KINDA! Have a new chapter!
> 
> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but I finally, _finally_ got it to the point of not flat out hating it with ever fibre of my being. And, since all of you are amazingly kind in being patient with me, I decided to go ahead and post it.
> 
> Still, sorry for the wait.
> 
> To everyone who has continued to stick with me, I love you dearly.
> 
> ~~Please don't be mad if this chapter sucks..~~

It was late Monday evening, when Tony finally caught sight of the other man as he shuffled into the room, looking equal parts stiff and smug. He had probably found the gym, or the firing range. He couldn't know for certain, and he'd spent the last days very deliberately _not_ asking Jarvis for details about the man. But, whatever it was that he had found, it had certainly done him some good.

“Hey,” Tony offered, weakly, as he quickly averted his eyes. He put a great deal of effort into pretending to focus on the work in front of him, pretending not to watch as Clint slumped onto the couch. 

He would have had to have been blind to not notice the lightness to Clint's shoulders, to miss the tried sort of peace that had somehow crept into his eyes over the last few days. Pained though he looked, there could be no way to mistake the spark of happiness in the man. 

All Tony wanted to do was ask, but he bit his tongue and continued to stare, blankly, at the report that Pepper had sent over.

“Did you order dinner?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, and fought down the urge to look at him again. “Jarvis said you didn't want to be disturbed, so I just ordered a little of everything. It's all in the kitchen, just help yourself to whatever strikes your fancy.”

The room fell silent again and Clint remained still. 

Tony bit his lip in an effort to keep quiet, to keep from moving and fidgeting and disturbing the strange sort of peace that had settled between them. For once, he was determined to play by Clint's rules in the hopes that, perhaps, they could get through a night without fighting. Without the slew of insults that usually coloured their meetings. Hell, it might even be... nice, perhaps. Pleasant.

“What time was Fury going to be here?”

“8:30.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Clint nod and relax further against the couch. It was odd to see him so calm, so very tranquil. It was a far cry from the wrathful, seething man that Tony had become so acquainted with. It was a strange sort of nice.

“Do I need to bring anything?”

“No, no. Just bring yourself and prepare to answer fairly invasive questions,” Tony said with a shrug. “It won't be too bad, however ominous that may have sounded.”

From his sprawl across the couch, Clint gave an amused huff, “How invasive?”

He shrugged, still determinedly staring at what he should have been working on, “That depends, I guess. On what he thinks you can, or want, to do. What he can trust you to do. The background check he ran on you probably uncovered things that even you are unaware of.”

With feigned nonchalance, Clint asked with a sudden tightness to his voice, “Background checks are that good, huh?”

“Yeah, they have to be. Given most of what they do, where they go,” he shrugged again. “Can't have surprises.”

“And you know this...?”

He winced and finally glanced up, offering an apologetic look, “I designed it all. The entire system, all of their security and software. I made sure they could get the information that they need, and could keep it as safe as possible.”

Clint met his gaze, eyes darkened and hard, “So you can get in.”

“If I need to, but not into their personnel files.” He felt his lips twitch up in a half smile, “I know what you're thinking, and there is no way for me to get into that part of the system. I made absolutely certain of it.”

Clint seemed to relax just a bit, turning his face back toward the ceiling.

“If it helps, Jarvis does not record Fury's visits if they are business-related,” Tony offered. “Never has and, barring a bridge-burning of epic proportions, never will.”

“Sure.”

Tony opened his mouth to reassure him further, to defend himself somehow, but snapped it shut as he looked back down at his work. It was pointless, really. He should have know that, shouldn't have bothered trying to defend himself. It never worked, not with Clint.

He sighed and sat back, running a hand through his hair, “I've been meaning to ask—”

“Nope, no. Stop there,” Clint ground out, cutting him off.

Tony flinched, “What—”

“I said no, we're not doing this. We're not sharing, we're not going to do back story, so just shut up.” Clint pointed a truly venomous glare at him, “This isn't show and tell. This isn't a heart-to-heart. We're not connecting. I just want to get through tomorrow and be done with this. Alright?”

Tony swallow thickly and looked back down at his hands. “What I was going to say,” he began, quietly, “was that if this isn't what you want to do, if SHIELD isn't where you want to be, I can cancel with Fury. I have other contacts, other opportunities.” He shrugged, and cast a longing look at the empty bar tucked into the corner of the room, “You seemed hesitant the other day, I didn't want you to end up saddled with something that bothers you.”

Clint merely answered with a soft, “Oh.”

They fell into silence again, tense, but the hostility slowly seeped away.

Perhaps, if he had started the Match Finder sooner, if he hadn't waited for the terror and fear of Afghanistan to drive him to action, they might've had a chance. Clint mightn't have been so hardened and cynical that he would refuse Tony in such a manner as he already had. It might've been different, might've worked. 

He cast one last glance at Clint, back to blinking slowly up at the ceiling, and stood, turning away. The silence followed him into the kitchen. He quietly wondered if— _had_ Clint said yes to him, back at the hospital—this would be the sound of their life together; silence and dismissal and cheap take out.

Tony, much to his own disappointment and disapproval, probably could have lived with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can bother me on [tumblr](http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/) even though I don't do much there..


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! Guess who didn't have to work this weekend? Well... _Technically_ I did have to work, I just chose not to. ~~You're going to give me a pay cut? Fine, I'll do the amount of work that you're paying me for, assholes.~~ I'm so going to get fired on Monday. Whatever. There are other newspapers.
> 
> ANYWAY. Have a new chapter. 
> 
> This thing. This frigging thing. I don't know why this chapter fought me as much as it did. I mean... This is literally the simplest chapter thus far, I knew exactly what was going to happen in it, point by point. Jeeze. I've only rewritten in 40-odd times and, because Clint has been being a massive butt face lately and not letting me write him, just got ride of the last section of this chapter. I'm not happy with it, but it is pretty much exactly what I set out for it to be so I can't really complain, I guess. Next chapter should be done soon! I do mean it this time, I like the next chapter! We get to meet Fury and Tony and Coulson get to have a chat.
> 
> Also, one of my very best friends made me a soundtrack! I posted all the songs with youtube links over [here](http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/post/119209573523/down-from-the-divide-soundtrack) on my tumblr if you are interested!

For the umpteenth time, Clint flung himself onto his back, ignoring the sharp protest from his still bruised ribs. The move wasn't overly satisfying and all he really did was land and begin sinking down into the too-soft surface once more. 

He missed the comforting creak and bounce of a box spring and hard, flattened pillows that had been worn down and beaten into submission.

He heaved a heavy sigh and sat up, pulling his knees to his chest.

He could still leave. He was no prisoner, he could leave, skip out on the interview and Fury and never have to see Tony again. He could _go_ and never have to come back, but a quick glance to his right quelled his thoughts. On the bed side table, a sharp arrow point glinted at him. The sight comforted him immediately, some of the tension draining from his shoulders.

Of course, that wouldn't help him sleep. It certainly hadn't the past nights.

With a defeated groan, he flopped onto his side with little care for how it jostled his ribs. The pleasant ache that had followed him the past days had finally begun to give way to stiff, creaking pains. But it was worth it.

Clint pressed his face into the mattress and smiled. It was _beyond_ worth it.

He'd tried to leave once already, the morning after Tony had offered him the job at SHIELD. His first morning in the apartment, and he'd taken one long look at the cavernous bathroom the size of the last apartment he'd lived in, only to turn tail and run. He'd gathered up what scraps of belongings he'd had left, and Tony's stolen jacket, and left, venturing back into the icy cold morning.

He'd only made it a few block when he saw her.

She was a blur of pink, weaving in and out of traffic at a truly ridiculous speed like she always did. 

Her name was Aimee, suitably misspelled to her taste. A bike messenger and his former neighbor. He hadn't seen her in years but she looked just exactly like he remembered—too quick for anyone to catch, there a split-second and around the corner the next, only honking cars and and echo of her delighted laugh the only clues that she'd passed by. Sharp as a tack and too clever for her own good. 

Clint had frozen in place as he watched her go, weaving her way through the cars and snow.

That had really been the moment, the deciding factor, that made him turn back. The reason for him to try and move on and forward. She was still kicking, still flying, because of him—whether he wanted to admit to it or not, Tony had been right about that. 

As soon as he'd returned to the tower, Clint had found himself the gym and proceeded to work until he ached, a fact that was coming back to haunt him as he tried desperately to find sleep. Jarvis, the ever-helpful ceiling voice—which Clint had given up trying to wrap his head around and settled for reluctant acceptance—had eventually directed him to the firing range. Had even helped him find a bow tucked away in a dark corner and a quiver of experimental arrows that had been fun to shoot through. 

For a few days, he'd felt good enough. 

Of course, that didn't much matter when he couldn't get to sleep to save his life.

Clint gave a great groan and sat up one more time, heaving himself out of the offending bed. With five hours left 'til show time, he didn't hold up much hope for the sleep that he'd been trying for as he wandered out of his bedroom. 

The rest of the apartment was gently lit by the city light from below, a soft golden light filtering through the wall of windows that ran the circumference of the whole apartment. The floors weren't the same sleek, black marble of Tony's own floor, but copper rust slate tiles, unpolished and natural and rough beneath Clint's bare feet. The features and furniture were a strangely pleasant mix of the over-modern touches that Tony relied on and soft, vintage curves; massive television screen hung above a set of hand-carved drawers, a sleek glass and polished steel book case next to a well-used Victrola, a redwood burl and resin dining table surrounded by dangerous looking chairs of steel and leather. 

It was a strange mix of comfort and convenience that only money could buy and, despite Clint's great and varied reservations, he rather liked it.

That, of course, never once stopped him from sneering as he threw himself down upon the surprisingly comfortable love seat.

He sighed and watched the snowflakes twist and fall through skyscrapers and city lights, settling in for another sleepless night even as his eyes slowly began to drift closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, come bother me on [tumblr](http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/) if you want


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK! YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO WAIT HALF A YEAR THIS TIME! WOOHOO!
> 
> I like this chapter a lot. And, at 1800 words, it is the longest chapter thus far. It's also mostly talking because Tony should be aloud to have a say, even if he's not saying it to Clint yet. Oh, well. They're stubborn gits.
> 
> Also, I don't remember if I ever said it, but chapter lengths, POV and timing will be super inconsistent. Like, the last chapters all happened over a period of days, but this chapter and the next will take place at the exact same time. Chapters after than will happen days later and probably be much shorter. *shrug* It's a thing. 
> 
> ALSO Also, a soundtrack! It's over here on my [tumblr](http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/post/119209573523/down-from-the-divide-soundtrack) if you wanna take a gander. I'll probably include it again at the very, very end once this whole story is over. Maybe. If I remember.

Nick Fury was a man of stern countenance, imposing and intimidating in equal measure. 

With devastating looking scars peeking out from behind an eye patch and a black leather duster, he easily commanded attention, not to mention obedience and loyalty. He towered over people just by sheer force of will, but would rarely use it to make other's feel small—unless it were truly deserved. And, despite his penchant for yelling and lectures, he would always— _always_ —spare a kind, fond look for Tony.

It was no different as Tony watched the man sweep into the room, meeting his gaze for a small, brief smile before he focused on Clint where he slouched against the wall. 

“Clint, this is Nick Fury, CEO and Director of SHIELD Security and Agent Coulson,” he introduced.

“Still not an 'Agent,'” Phil muttered, narrowing his eyes.

“Still don't believe you,” Tony chirped in return. Few things ever brought Tony the same joy as annoying the other man, despite knowing full well that Phil could kick his ass half way across the state before he ever broke a sweat.

Nick rolled his eye with a resigned and disappointed sigh, one Tony had often been on the receiving end of, and waved them both away, “Go play, children.”

Tony gave him a winning smirk and a half-assed salute before turning toward the elevator, Phil following silently at his heels. “You kids have fun, we'll be in the garage if you need us,” he said, throwing one last wave over his shoulder. “Don't break anything.”

As the elevator door closed, he relaxed just slightly. He'd managed to get out without looking at Clint, without setting off any more of his ire. For once.

Next to him, Phil was silent and stoic as always and Tony wanted to roll his eyes. It was always the same with him when he wanted to _talk_. He wouldn't purposefully trap Tony somewhere small, wouldn't corner him and force him to listen, no. He would wait until they were in Tony's garage or lab, somewhere wide and safe. Somewhere Tony could pretend to hide, despite the fact that Phil wouldn't let him escape that easily. 

It was annoying, more than anything, but he wouldn't deny that he was thankful for it.

True to form, Phil waited until they'd cleared the elevator doors before he spoke up. “This is highly unusual,” he began, crossing his arms over his chest. “Even for you.”

“Do I hear a compliment in there?”

“Not this time, Stark. What is it about this kid?”

Sometimes he really hated Phil with a passion. Too observant for his own good. “Cut to the chase, why don'cha?” He busied himself with some blue prints spread out on one of the tables, “Would you drop it if I asked you to?”

“Yes, but you know that I'll figure it out. So perhaps just save us all some time and trouble and just tell me?” Phil asked, ever reasonable. “Why is he so important to you?”

“He's a good man? He's brave?” He shrugged, half-heartedly, “Hell, he deserves this chance, Phil. I found him half-dead and beaten within an inch of his life because he saved some girl's life. He's homeless and he doesn't deserve to be, not when he can do so much good.”

“Say it with conviction this time.”

He rolled his eyes and managed to refrain from throwing anything, “What do you want me to say?”

“How about you start with the truth?”

“That was the truth!”

“Then tell me the rest of it.”

He slammed his hands down into the table once, rattling it so hard that several tools fell off the sides and shock waves lit up his arms.

“Fuck,” he groaned and scrubbed a hand through his hair. Two choices; he could get it over with, damn him, or he could rely on Phil's patience and persistence to eventually uncover it after weeks of needling and snark. He slumped heavily against the table and closed his eyes, “J, bring up the footage.”

He didn't have to turn to know the screen had flared up behind his back, big and bright for Phil to see. He didn't need to see the other man to know that he was watching intently. He didn't have to see the screen to know exactly what it was playing.

“Well, he certainly has no self-preservation,” Phil muttered, beginning to make quiet observations. “Skilled fighter, to be sure, but he's damn rusty.” He shuffled a bit, probably leaning closer to study the short video, “But he doesn't back down, does he?”

Tony stared down at the mess in front of him, but didn't really see it. He had the video memorized, he knew they were getting close to the end, to the moment. Behind him, Phil still muttered along, voice taking on a quietly more impressed tone as he went along.

“Well, he's certainly—wait. Pause please, Jarvis.”

And there it was. Tony flinched an clenched his hands into fists to keep from shaking as he finally turned, watching Phil manipulate the screen so that he could zoom in on the fuzzy footage. So he could pin it down, so he could understand.

Eventually, he looked away from the screen, “Tony...”

“You caught that, did you?”

“Tony, he's—” 

“Yes, I know.”

Phil frowned, his gaze beginning to darken, “Gee, Mr. Stark, you sure sound happy to have finally found your soul mate.”

“Is that what I'm supposed to be?”

He motioned to the screen, “ _Soulmate_ , Tony! You found him! You should be ecstatic! Elated! But you're acting like a brat, like you just got shit on. He's your soulmate, he's here, so what has you so damn twisted up inside?”

He could feel it all bubbling up as he gave Phil a dark and ugly smirk, “You know Agent, when you're right, you're right. I should be happy, shouldn't I?” He was probably going to yell, but fuck him if he could stop it. He scratched his chin and shrugged, making certain to send Phil another ugly smile, “And, believe me, I am. Just so happy that I waited all this time to know once and for all that he hates my guts. I'm just so, so _glad_ that my soulmate can't stand to be in the same room with me, let alone the same time zone. You know, you wouldn't even believe how _excited_ I am that the one person I spent my life searching for took one little look and refused me!

“Yeah, just so happy! He won't look at me, won't say a damn civil thing to me, but, goddamn it! I'm just so fucking happy! So, so happy that even my soul mate, _my match_ , thinks that I am the piece of shit I've spent life being told that I am!” He was screaming, panting, shaking so hard that he knew Phil saw it where he stood stock still in shocked silence, but it didn't matter yet, “Oh, man, you're right. This thing that I'm feeling? It just must be elation! Isn't that right? That's what I should feel, knowing that he hates me? Oh, and I do!” He was gesticulating wildly, knocking things over without a care as he screamed on, “One more person who _sees me_ , who knows just what shit of a human I actually am, who knows that I'm utter scum, that I'm lower than fucking—”

It was a shock, cut off mid sentence by Phil's arms wrapping him up tight. He hadn't even seen the man move before he was pinned in place, his wildly motioning hands held down against his sides. “Fuck, Tony,” he whispered, running one hand along his back. Fight slowly drained from him and he sagged against Phil's chest, burying his face in the man's neck with a sound he wasn't entirely proud of.

“I'm just pleased as fucking punch, Phil,” he whispered, trying to bit back a few tears he didn't know he was capable of. God, he was exhausted, raw. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped at Phil's jacket, trying to regain his breath, “Sorry.”

“No, fuck, don't be,” he hissed. “I shouldn't have pushed.”

Tony shrugged as best he could, still slumped against him, “Oh, I don't know. All that might've done me some good, actually. Pent up rage does a number on the health, I hear.”

Phil chuckled helplessly and carefully manoeuvred them into a pair of near by chairs. His hands were steady and warm, insistent as he helped Tony sink into his seat before he settled into his own.

They were silent for a few minutes before Tony, breath finally calmed, offered a weak smile, “So, that escalated quickly.”

Phil chuckled again, wiping a hand over his face, “Tony, if he... Why is he even here? How did you get him to come with you?”

“Kicking and screaming, mostly,” he muttered, tiredly. “I'm still struggling to figure that out myself. But all of _that_ aside, I couldn't just... _leave_ him. I still have to take care of him. Have to help, somehow. Even if it ends up killing me.”

“Looks like you've got that in common,” Phil motioned to the paused video.

He nodded and glanced away, “Yeah, I guess. Different way of going about it, though.”

“Like you would have it any other way.”

He snorted and closed his eyes against an other unwelcome wave. “He needs this, Phil. And I need him to have it. I need to know that's he's taken care of,” he said, quietly. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah, Tony. We will.”

He nodded, and wrung his hands. It would be fine, eventually. It couldn't hurt forever.

Phil cleared his throat as he brushed the screen and video aside, “I can talk to him.”

“Please don't. That would just make everything worse.”

“Alright.” Phil sagged and nodded, “I'm sorry, Tony.”

“Don't be. You didn't have anything to do with this mess.” He offered the man a bit of a smile, “It'll be fine, eventually.

Phil nodded, “So what are your plans now?”

“I'll head back to Malibu tonight,” he shrugged, picking at a hole in his jeans. “After that, I don't know.”

“Do you... need anything?”

“Just...” He sighed and leaned back, trying to relax, “Don't meddle, okay? Please don't meddle. I get stabbed when you meddle.”

Phil rolled his eyes, “Okay, first, that was Nick's meddling. Second, that was one time and she apologized.”

“Sarcastically.”

“Still counts.”

He chuckled, feeling a small knot of tension ease in his chest. It would be okay. Probably not soon, probably not smooth, but he would get there. With Phil sitting at his side, finally moving to the subject of work, helping to fill that cavern in his gut that he'd just cleared with enthusiasm and purpose, it hurt a little bit less. Not much, but enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *feelings*


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I meant to post this yesterday. But I had a wedding in the early afternoon and literally sat in the rain for an hour, then came home, took a nap, and woke up about twelve hours later. So... nothing really happened at all yesterday..
> 
> Anyway. New chapter. I don't exactly hate it. Fury! Woo! 
> 
> Also.. You may notice a small change to the chapter counter there. I was waiting for a interview and was bored so I sort of blocked out all of the things that I wanted to include, what chapters they would go in and the main POV for each. There will probably be _at least_ 42 chapters in this thing by the time I'm through. Please don't hate me, there is so much more pain and mangst to go through before I'm done..

Clint had to hand it to the man, Fury put on a good show. 

Sweep in, stare 'em down, scare 'em off. He was intimidating, sure, but that was the whole point. There was no real interview, no qualifications and past experience. He'd probably name off a bit of his juvenile record, just show he could get at sealed information. He'd say something about Clint's parents next, then his brother. He'd ask about the circus, about Buck. Hint that he knew some things, had some sources.

It was theatrics. He'd list off anything any sub-par PI would be able to dig up, and wait for something to make Clint twitch. Then he'd needle and dig at that point like he knew anything about it, until Clint squirmed and gave up. 

It was meant to weed out the lesser men, the ones who wouldn't be able to handle facing down a gun. A show of power and grandeur to catch their attention, first. Then startle them with a trick, a flip, a death-defying drop. Once they'd been caught, when they can't look away, strike. Keep striking, keep finding the target, until there's nothing left. They didn't shit themselves, they'd get the job.

It was all just a bunch of theatrics but, of the two of them, Clint was the better performer. 

He tilted his head back and gave the man an unimpressed smirk and relaxed into his slouch.

Nick leaned back in his chair, his blank gaze slowing creeping into some sort of amusement and something else, something Clint couldn't quite name. Something that prickled the back of Clint's neck.

“So, Mr. Barton,” Fury began, conversational and easy, smooth as silk, “why do you want this job?”

Flip and twist, leave the crowd gasping. Nice trick. Clint crossed his arms across his chest, “I don't think I remember telling you my name.”

“I don't remember asking for it,” Fury said, flashing a smirk. His gaze was hard, but it wasn't searching. The man wasn't looking for cracks or ticks, he wasn't waiting for an opening. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing, the game that he was playing. He didn't have to needle his way beneath Clint's skin, not when he knew what was already there. “So, Mr. Barton. Tell me.”

He frowned, straightening just a little. He got the distinct feeling that, perhaps, he'd just been led into a trap. He shook his head, “Now that you mention it, I don't think I do want it.”

Fury shrugged, seemingly unconcerned, “Probably for the best.”

“Yeah? And why is that?”

“To be completely frank, I've had damn near enough of your kind,” he said, something like a challenge in his voice. “I really don't need another corn pone punk like you coming through, making play like he's a badass. I've had it up to here with _those_ , and I don't need one more that can't handle it. That's how people get killed.”

The floor dropped out from beneath him, and Clint felt dizzy. If Tony had been right about anything, it was that Fury _knew_. He knew everything, probably. Clint suddenly felt sick. He swallowed down the feeling and raised his chin, “That's what you know, is it? That's what you know about me? About what I've done?”

“You bet your ass,” Fury said, easily. “You wanna take a guess how many times your name has come across my desk, kid? I've got a file on you a mile wide.”

He grimaced before he could stop himself, “I thought you all only handled personal security.”

“Then you're a damn fool.”

He nodded and dropped his gaze to the floor, “Yeah, it's beginning to look that way.”

He rubbed at his jaw and studied the shine of the dark marble floor, absently wondering it Tony knew. If he'd done his homework during those few hours that Clint had been laid up in the hospital before letting him into the tower. Jarvis—ceiling voice, AI, robot butler, whatever the hell he was—could easily have found any number of records the same way he did everything else: fucking instantly.

Was it even an interview, or was it how Fury planned to take him in? Get him to relax, dazzle him with a show, knock him dead. Flip, twist, fire.

It had be a set up. He'd been played, and very well, and he couldn't quite find it in him to be angry about it. Just—defeated.

He met Fury's gaze again, where the man had apparently been waiting for his attention. He was leaned forward, arms braced on his knees, watching Clint intently.

“My job is to assess threats. To find them, monitor them, protect people from them. To do something about them. Usually something _permanent_.” He gave Clint a long look, “You're one of those threats, and a pretty damn big one when you decide to put your mind to it. I don't pretend to know why you went down that way, why you did any of that shit. Motive doesn't interest me in any other way than to be able to track you down and deal with you. The _why_ isn't my job; I leave that to the lawmen, the cops and lawyers who'll put you away. My job is the _what_. What you've done, what you'll do, what you're capable of.”

He nodded slumping a little further in on himself, “So where does that leave me?”

“Way I see it, you've got three choices,” he said, and began to tick off each on his fingers. “First, I take you out, right here and now—the way you probably deserve. Your three strikes have been up for a long damn time, and you have to know that.”

He couldn't do much more than nod as he began to feel faint. Dizziness and an empty, gaping pit slowly growing in his gut.

“Second, you leave. You go on off on your merry way, you keep your head down and you don't look back. You do what you're good at,” Nick said, voice fierce and low. “You run away.”

Clint swallowed past the lump in his throat, “And third?”

“You drop that smug attitude you were wearing when I walked in here, and you move the hell on with your life.” Fury levelled him with a stern _look_ , “You've got one hell of an opportunity here in front of you. I suggest you take it.”

“Easy as that? Do I deserve that kind of chance?” he asked. His own voice sounded hollow and weak.

Fury sat back and sighed, “I told you, I know what you've done, Clint. Not just the bad. I know about Romanova, about about what happened in Bed-Stuy. Hell, I can probably tell you the last time you wiped your ass.”

Clint snorted a small kind of laugh, despite himself.

“I can tell you that Aimee didn't get hurt the other night, when you took on those men in the alley. Thanks to you, she got away with only a few scrapes and a mild chill. I can tell you that Simone and the boys are okay, still living in that same apartment. They didn't get hurt after you left, miraculously.” He shrugged, “I can tell you their new land lord is one hell of a lot better than you every were, though it took him a while to pull his head out of his ass. Must just be a Barton thing.”

Surprise snapped through him. He blinked at Fury, mind suddenly racing through every possibility he could conjure, “Barney?”

Nick huffed, “Yeah. You didn't just leave the building, you left him to deal with those thugs and you didn't look back. Someone had to step up.”

Clint pushed off of the wall to hide his flinch and began pacing the length of the living room. Just like Barney to grow the hell up when he wasn't around to witness it. Just like Barney to be the one to stay, when Clint was the one to run out and disappear. Fucking hell, the world had gone to hell while he'd been away.

“I'm gonna be honest with you Clint, you're a bit of human crapsack,” Fury said, startling a small laugh out of him. “But you can do good, and a lot of it. Grow up, Clint. Move on, move forward. Grab this opportunity and do something with it. Easy as that.”

Flip, twist. 

He nodded and forced himself to relax, to stop pacing and turn to face the man. Fury looked at him, that nameless something still there, and gave him a nod. “Alright,” he said, voice still a bit raw. “Sell it to me. What's the job?”

Fury gave him a small smile, “I think we both know isn't really about the job, but I guess it really isn't my call if you wanna wear your ass as a hat for a little while longer.”

Fire.

Clint glared at the man where he smirked, quite please with himself, from his comfy seat. Fury was a damn smug bastard, and manipulative as they came. What the hell had he just gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I affectionately refer to this chapter as, "See, Clint? Even Nick wants you to just knock it the hell off."
> 
> Come bother me on [tumblr](http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/) if you want, I guess.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I know you're all probably enjoying this update schedule far better than what it was, but I think we should have some Real Talk right now.. This has been made possible because I got fired. So, this is probably only going to last until I can get a new Real Job, since my other ones are basically just volunteer work that I occasionally make money doing. So.. Don't get attached. I will keep at this until for as long as possible, and I will totally warn y'all when I get hired, but just don't be surprised if I slow down again. Kay? Kay.
> 
> So, I'm super tired and I don't know how I feel about this chapter yet. But I'm posting it before I think better of it. Please, don't hate me if it sucks. Sleep deprivation, just remember that.
> 
> ALSO. Nobody has really said anything about it, but it's probably useful information to have and I'm sure its been noticed by, obviously, but I just thought I would say it definitively.. Clint is not deaf in this story. Which I did on purpose. There are bits of his back story that I changed, and it made sense in my head to not make him deaf because of those changes. So. Now you know.
> 
> Same thing with the arc reactor.
> 
> ONWARD!

It must have been late afternoon by the time he arrived at Tony's lab. 

His _chat_ with Fury had lasted long hours, dragging on through the muck of what he was and wasn't prepared to do. Followed by an extensive listing of every weapon he was competent with, every form of hand-to-hand combat he knew and any and all experience he might have with explosives.

He'd then been laden down with a general training schedule that he would be expected to complete before entering the field, the Official SHIELD Employee Handbook, a handy list of languages that it would behove him to learn and a comprehensive reading list for any and all eventualities that might occur on the job. As it turned out, he would need a hell of a lot more information on household poisons than he currently had. Not to mention first aide, natural disaster evacuation procedures and alternative interrogation techniques.

All in all, Clint felt raw, worn, half-drowned, wrung out, spun around and left stranded. And a little bit violated, if he were being completely honest.

Fury hadn't once let up with the barrage of information, either confident in Clint's ability to follow along or daring him to ask for help. While it was almost certainly the latter, Clint thought he did a damn admirable job of keeping up. He was also damn certain that he saw several books on French cuisine included on his reading list, which was another tick in the column of Fury just fucking toying with him.

He shook his head and stifled a yawn. He'd spent the last two or so hours trying to make sense of the handbook, a mile thick book written like the instructions to a set of shelving units—he could, eventually, figure it out on his own if he just ignored the “helpful” diagrams from the start. 

He was being fucked with on a cosmic level, he was absolutely certain of it.

Clint sighed heavily and trudged further into Tony's lab, only to stop short when he finally glanced up at his surroundings.

The place was pure science fiction, all shiny, spotless surfaces and clear computer screens. Further into the room was a second lab full of what looked like robotic arms and fabrication units, more screens displaying more information and equations that he had no possible way of understanding. It was, in a word, overwhelming.

But, for all that Clint felt out of place, Tony _looked_ it. 

He'd shed the t-shirt he'd had on at the start of the day, left with only the heather grey henley he'd been wearing underneath, the sleeves of which were absolutely filthy. His hair was in utter disarray, and, when he looked closely, was streaked and stuck with some kind of dark gunk, like oil. His jeans had several more holes and rips, stained with dark smudges just like his shirt sleeves. 

“What the hell happened to you?”

The man spun around in surprise, startled by his presence. He blinked slowly, “What?”

Clint took a few more steps froward and motioned to his appearance, “You look like you got into a fight with an engine.”

Tony looked down at himself and softened as he gave a small, amused chuckle. “You're not far off. Phil and I did a little work on Lola,” he said, like that explained anything at all for Clint. He glanced around the lab, but nothing in sight looked like a _Lola_ , let alone like something dirty enough to leave him looking like _that_. Tony gave a shrug, and turned back to the screen he'd been working at, “How was Fury?”

“Disconcerting.”

Tony chuckled, “Yeah, he is that. I'm sure he gave you a shitton to read, right?”

“Little bit of an understatement,” he said, stepping up to lean against the table next to Tony. 

“I'm sure,” he said, amused. “You only need about 12% of those.”

“You know, after the chat we had, I don't think I'm going to take my chances,” he said with a frown. He wasn't looking forward to studying French cooking, but he refused to be blind sided by that particular possibility. 

Tony chuckled again, a strange, foreign sound that Clint hadn't really heard before. “Wise. Just tell Jarvis what you need. He'll order any books or download them for you,” he said, absently, as he continued to move bits of information around the screen.

“Sure.” He watched Tony work for a few moments before crossed his arms over his chest, and asked the question that had been bothering him for the last few hours, “What's his deal, anyway? Fury, I mean.”

Tony snorted, “There are so many ways to answer that.”

“The gist?”

“He's my god father, I guess,” he sighed and dropped his hands from the screen, going tense. “Kinda. Or, he used to be. When I was little.”

“How'd that change?” 

“Eh, bit of a long story, really,” he shrugged and moved to swipe some little window of numbers off of the screen. He slowly moved away toward another bank of screens, back to Clint, and quietly added, “You might enjoy it actually, it involves me getting shot.”

He flinched at the tone. There was venom in Tony's voice, a harshness that Clint hadn't experienced yet. He watched the man move about, methodically clearing away the screen and further straightening the room, tense and rigid all the while. Clint almost hadn't noticed how _relaxed_ he'd been when he entered, not until it was gone, until he'd begun to move and carry himself with the same tautness that he'd worn constantly the past few days.

Clint just stared at him, “What?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing.” Tony shrugged, unconcerned, “Did you need something?”

“Uh, no. Not really.” He watched Tony as he worked, “Just... checking in, I guess.”

“Right.” He cleared away the final screen and turned to survey the room, his brown eyes hard as he surveyed his work, “Well, I guess I'm through here.”

Clint frowned, “Huh?”

Tony glanced at him, “Oh, right. I'm heading back to Malibu, just like I said I would.”

“Oh. Now?” Clint asked, watching the other man slowly nod. “That's pretty soon.”

“Said I'd clear out.” He shrugged and headed for the door, “You're the one who wanted me gone, just keeping up my end of the deal.”

Clint pushed away from the table to cover his flinch and followed Tony out and down the flight of stairs to the main room. He glanced around, still frowning. A briefcase and duffel sat next to the elevator, all the baggage Tony seemed to be taking with him. The tallest tower around, filled to the brim with everything imaginable, and Tony only packed half a duffel bag and paperwork.

The man moved toward the coffee table, riffling through the papers he'd left there the previous night. As he straightened up, Tony nodded to himself and asked suddenly, “Did he mention anything at all about their employee housing?”

Clint blinked at him, surprised, not for the first time that day, by his abruptness, “What?”

“Fury. Did he mention their employee apartments?”

Somewhere in all that mess of information, he thought he remembered something like that. He nodded, “Yeah, he said something about that. Said they suck but they're convenient.”

Tony snorted, “Well he got one out of two. I've seen them and they are frighteningly awful.”

“Better than nothing, I suppose.”

Tony winced, but kept going, “Sure, yeah. But those ill-maintained broom closets aren't worth the money they'll take out of your check for 'rent.'”

“Not much choice in the matter,” he said with a shrug.

“You can stay here, you know.” Tony ran a had through his hair, smearing grease across his palm, “Don't bite my head off for suggesting it, please, but just give it some thought. You won't get paid until you start working, and you won't start working until you're healed up—a few more weeks, at least.”

He shook his head, “Stark—”

“I know, I get it. But you'll have the place to yourself.” He frowned a little, “Well, the top floors, at least. Everything below the pool level is still technically SI labs and offices.”

“I'm just not exactly comfortable staying here any longer than I need to.”

“And that is perfectly understandable,” Tony agreed, eyes going a little soft and sad again. “Just... Give it some thought, you don't have to make up your mind right away. And, I'm not saying make it permanent. Just until you've got some money saved up for a better place than what SHIELD is offering. It'll go faster if you're not having to worry.”

He hated when Tony was right, and even worse than that, he hated to admit it, “Yeah, okay.”

“Right, good.” Tony gave him a short nod, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders, “I, uh, shouldn't need to be back in the city for at least six months. If I do and you're still staying here, I'll stay at a hotel. Unless I actually need to get into my lab, but I'll have Jarvis give you a fair warning before I show up.”

“Sure.”

Tony looked at him for a long, quiet moment, like he wanted to say something, and then glanced away again. He looked tired, worn and weary now. Not fifteen minutes earlier, upstairs before he'd closed off again, he'd looked... Not happy, exactly. But calm. Peaceful. It had been a good look for him, the wild hair and errant smudges of oil across his chin and nose making him look more boyish than it had any right to.

But, as he watched Tony turn away toward the elevator, he just looked worn, utterly defeated and exhausted. 

He didn't know if it was his earlier _interview_ that had him out of sorts, or the distance that a few days to himself in the gym caused, but he didn't fight the sight all that satisfying. At the start of it all, he would have delighted in breaking Tony down that far, but now it just left him cold.

“I'll, uh, leave you to it, then,” Tony muttered, scratching his chin, managing to only make the smudge there worse. 

“Yeah.” 

He studied Clint's face for a few more seconds before he turned away, heading for his things. Clint watched him for a few seconds and turned toward the windows, studying the snowy city. He did his best to stay still, to not turn and watch the man go. He'd almost made an art of it, but it hadn't been such a struggle before.

Behind him there was a defeated sigh, “Clint, can I—” 

He spun, quickly, and moved a few feet toward him, “Yeah?”

Tony determinedly strode forward, eyes hard and low. He stepped into Clint space and stopped, holding out a hand between them, “It was... good to meet you, finally.”

“Yeah,” Clint croaked, throat suddenly going dry as he gripped Tony's outstretched hand. He kept his eyes trained on Tony's face, which was far worse than watching their hands meet. Instead of just seeing the man's tanned skin against his own, get got to watch every single bit of emotion play out across Tony's face, and it was so much worse. “You, too.”

Tony bit his lip and stepped away, slowly moving away. The elevator doors were still open and waiting for him, his things set just inside.

Clint wanted to say something else, fill the silence, but Tony just kept walking. Kept leaving.

He tried to concentrate on the fact that he was about to be alone again, just like he'd wanted. Tried to find solace in it. He'd start working soon, start a life, start _something_. Hell, maybe he'd go see Barney or try to find Natasha. Read a book or watch a movie, catch up on the world that he'd missed. He'd keep busy, and he would do it without Tony, just like he'd done for a life time before.

Cast another look at the man's retreating form and turned to the window again. He tried not to think about it, the way their hands fit together or the way Tony's work rough callouses felt against his skin. He watched the snow slowly fall and tried not to think about any thing as he shook out his hand in the hopes that the feeling would go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bother me on [tumblr](http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/) if you want, I guess.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you guys are just the best. Thank you for all the well wishes about the job problem, you guys are the sweetest, but I promise that I totally deserved to get fired. I almost literally asked for it, so it's all good really. But I will totally give you all a heads up if posting will get held up in the future, either because of a job or whathaveyou.
> 
> Oh, and here is a heads up about posting maybe getting held up a bit... I really have been neglecting a couple of other things there and I feel lie a jerk for not updating them even remotely as often as I've updated this. SO. I'm _planning_ (and we know how good at that I really am) to try to get a new chapter of one of those out next.. Also, I'd forgotten that I had a vacation planned here mid-July, so I will be without a computer for a week and a half-ish, so that will put a bit of a cog in my plans. But I will have notebooks, so hopefully I'll come back with something goodish scribblings.
> 
> NOW! You can think of this as the end of Act I (of Four). Act II will have a little different chapter structure (probably) and take place over several months rather than several days, so you have that to look forward to, I guess. Oh! And I will have a little Nick/Phil companion story to this chapter. Eventually. It's not really a priority, but it will happen.
> 
> So, this chapter. I like to call it, "The Chapter that just wouldn't Fucking End, Jesus Christ." You can probably pinpoint the exact moment when I started floundering and couldn't figure out how to end it. I also don't even care, because I am not going to rewrite this chapter again. This is really not where this chapter was supposed to go in my notes, but it just sort of happened and junk.
> 
> Also, I've been thinking.. The Tony/Clint ship name should probably just be 'These Two Idiots.' What do we think?
> 
> ONWARD!

Usually, when he'd barged into Nick's office unannounced, the man had been expecting him. Or, at the very least, unsurprised by the intrusion. Usually the man didn't even look up from his work, he just waved Tony toward the couch tucked up against the wall and finished up whatever he had been working on.

That was the usual, but he'd never actually seen Nick look so... rumpled. He'd never seen the man anything other ready to kick ass, save a few hospital trips and Tony's seventh birthday party when he'd looked so odd—it took nearly twelve years after the fact for him to recognize the look on Nick's face as heart ache and fear. 

Tony leaned back heavily against the door and watched him take a long sip of Scotch.

He looked utterly defeated, where he was slumped into the plush couch cushions. His jacket had been carelessly tossed onto the coffee table in front of him, left in a crumpled heap of leather, and he'd left the decanter out like he'd planned to drink more. Tony frowned at him, “You and Phil got into a fight. A real bad one, if you're drunk during office hours.”

“I am _not_ drunk,” Nick said, primly. “I am _drinking_.”

“Right, right. You're just day drinking,” Tony muttered, rolling his eyes hard.

Nick merely raised the glass is salute before he downed another long sip.

“Was is about Clint?”

He let out a huff, “He's just the gift that keeps on giving, isn't he?”

Tony gave him a helpless look, “I really don't know what I'm supposed to do with that.”

Nick just let his head fall back against the couch with another humourless laugh, “Don't worry about it, kid.”

“Really? Don't worry about it, _kid_?” Tony rained an unimpressed eyebrow at him, “I'm only _kid_ when you've down something wrong, and whatever it is was enough to send you into a bottle. I think I get to worry about it, _gramps_.”

“Tony, kid, really. Just leave it.”

“No, what did Clint do that was so awful? I mean, I know he can be a bit of a dick, but—” Tony blink and a pit opened up in his gut, full of confusion and anger and humiliation. Phil hated few things more than he hated being lied to, and the only times Tony had know the two of them to fight it had always been because Nick had neglected to tell the whole truth. Nick had lied about something big, something about _Clint_ , and it was enough to start the man day drinking.

Nick winced once and sighed, “Tony—” 

“You knew, didn't you?” he asked, quietly. “You fucking knew.”

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“About twelve years, or so.”

“Jesus christ, Nick!” He pushed away from the door and stalked closer to the man, the pit in his gut quickly filling with rage, “twelve fucking years, and you didn't think to tell me? You didn't think that I might want to fucking know that he was _alive_?!”

“I didn't think that—”

“Fucking obviously you didn't think!” He angrily paced the length of the room, shooting glares at Nick, “What, did you think I couldn't handle it? Did you think—”

“That he would've gotten you killed? Yes, I did think that,” he hissed, unceremoniously dropping his tumbler of Scotch to the table top in front of him as he sat forward. “You don't fucking understand what I do here, do you? You know, in theory, but you don't understand.”

“Don't I?”

“No, you fucking well don't,” Nick grumbled, and pointed to the chair across from him. “Sit the hell down and let me finish a fucking sentence, would you? I mean, goddamn.”

He glowered, but did as he had been told and threw himself into the chair hard enough to knock it back a few inches. He tried not to let anything but the rage show on his face, tried not to show the betrayal that coursed through him. Nick had promised once, years before, that he would help Tony look, that he would help find his match. More importantly, he had promised never to lie, not about this. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded for the other man to continue.

“Tony, I need you to understand what it is that I do, okay? I don't need you to approve, but I just need you to know,” he said and took a deep, steadying breath. “You know have of what goes on here. You know Phil's half of things, you know that we hire out private security and body guards for businesses and such. Personal security for people like you, people with someone out to get them. You get that part of it, right?”

He nodded, slowly, a little bit of dread replacing the rage in his gut.

“Who do you think worries about that someone? Who do you think gets rid of the bad guys before they have a chance to get rid of you?” he asked. “I need you to understand what I mean when I say this, because I'm not going to elaborate much further, alright? Clint's name did come across Phil's desk, it came across mine. It wasn't connected to a current client or case at the time, so Phil had no reason to be informed. 

“And, aside from that, it wasn't until a few years later that I finally had a good enough photo of the mark to know that he was your match.” He sat back and sighed heavily, “Hell, kid, the way he was going, I didn't think he'd live to see 25. I wasn't going to let you get caught up in that until I was certain that he wouldn't get you killed.”

Tony rolled his eyes, “Oh, please—”

“Do not start. He was worse off then than he is now, more bite than bark.”

“He still bites.”

“Yeah, but not you. All he has now, for you, is sharp words.” Nick picked up the glass and rolled it between his hands, “But, six years ago, he had a helluva lot more, sharper things than just _words_. Mark or no, it wouldn't have mattered one damn bit to him. Besides, by then we weren't on speaking terms anyway, and I knew you wouldn't have answered my calls if I had even tried.”

Tony winced and sat forward a little, the anger and rage beginning to dispel. He hated to think about that time, hated to think that he'd so easily turned his back on Nick like that. It had been a rough few years there and he'd only seen Nick and Phil again when they'd visited him the hospital after Afghanistan. 

“You tried to tell me then, didn't you?” he asked, remembering how Nick and tried and tried to tell him something, but he hadn't heard anything past his accusations about Obie—accusations he should have listened to. “You tired to tell me about Clint.”

“I did.”

“And you just... Kept it to yourself?”

“Yeah. I kept track of him for those few years before he dropped off the map. But then you went to Afghanistan, and I had more pressing matters to worry about. And, honestly, up until that security footage showed up last week, I had thought he was dead,” he said, quietly. He met Tony's gaze with a small, pained smirk and nudged the glass across the table to him, “Here, you look like you need this more than I do.”

He huffed a small laugh and took the glass to his lips, taking a small sip of the amber liquid. He knew that taste, knew the exact bottle of fifty year old Scotch that he had bought for Nick's birthday the year prior. He gave Nick sympathetic look as he set it back on the table, “The fight was that bad?”

“The worst.”

“But the Balvenie? I got you that for special occasions,” he gently teased.

Nick shrugged, “What? This isn't special? It isn't every day that my partner leaves me.”

Tony scoffed and propped his feet up on the table, “Like hell he did. Phil wouldn't leave you, not like this, and he'd yell at you for even thinking about that possibility.”

“You didn't hear him this time,” Nick said a little to quietly. “I honestly thought he was going to just walk out of the building and never come back.”

“But he didn't.” Tony pointed out, absently swishing the amber liquid around the glass as he watched Nick sink further into the couch cushions, “What was the fight about, specifically? Just the whole secret soulmate thing? Or was it more?”

He shrugged, “More and then some.”

“How much more?”

He frowned and thought about it for a moment, “A bit more.”

Tony gave him the most unimpressed look he could muster, “Are you really doing this? You just gave me more information that I can possibly process right this second, and now you're going to pull out the short, cryptic answers?”

He shrugged again, “I am a meddlesome old fool and I should probably start learning when to just shut up and leave it alone.”

“And you just had to start now, didn't you?” Tony muttered with an amused shake of his head. “I guess I should be grateful. Last time you meddled, I got stabbed.”

“Really, gee, I'd almost forgotten. Its almost like you never mention it ever,” Nick teased.

He just gave him a small, tired grin and settled back into the comfortable chair. He tried, he really did, to ignore the nagging speculations in the back of his mind, but the insistent _what if _'s were hard to block out. What if he had found Clint all that time ago? What if had ended even worse? What if it hadn't? He suppressed a slight shiver and tried not to imagine the life they might have lead, had Tony just taken to the life Clint had been leading. He remembered what he was like all those years ago, he remembered the drugs and alcohol and bad choices.__

__Perhaps it was a blessing, for them to meet like they had. It wasn't _ideal_ and it wasn't what Tony had always wanted, but he had never really imagined before that his match wouldn't want the same. Maybe this was what they had been meant for._ _

__“I can hear you thinking over there.”_ _

__He huffed a small laugh, “Uh, huh. What am I thinking, gramps?”_ _

__Nick just fondly shook his head, “It'll work out, Tony. He'll come around.”_ _

__Tony just scoffed, “Ha, right. I've got a better chance of actually making that flying aircraft carrier that I designed when I was drunk. Oh, I'm sorry. When I was _drinking_.”_ _

__Nick ignored his little quip and shook his head, “Ten bucks says he'll come around before then.”_ _

__“Make it twenty.”_ _

__He chucked, “Eh, make it an even fifty.”_ _

__“Ooo, brave man, betting against a Stark like that.”_ _

__“Call me an optimist.”_ _

__Tony chuckled sadly, “Sure. And I'm a romantic.”_ _

__Nick just raised an eyebrow at him, “Really? You honestly think you're not? Setting aside your more recent endeavours, you are the kid who—at the age of twelve—took one look at Phil the first time you met him and declared that you would be the best man at our wedding.”_ _

__“I'm not a _romantic_ , I'm just realistic,” he groused. “Besides, the only reason that hasn't come true is because you refuse to put a ring on it, you stingy bastard.”_ _

__Nick chuckled and finally began to relax, “We'll get right on that.”_ _

__“Yeah, you better.” He gave another grin and nudged the glass back toward Nick as he stood, “I want to see a _Save the Date_ postcard soon.”_ _

__“Like Phil would ever do something so pedestrian.”_ _

__Tony chuckled, “I don't know, he always struck me as a traditionalist.”_ _

__Nick just shook his head, amused, and stood, “Are you heading out?”_ _

__“To Malibu, yeah. Don't quite know when I'll be back.”_ _

__“A shame, that.”_ _

__“Yeah, tell me about it,” Tony muttered and then shrugged again. “But he wants me go, so I'm gone. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do? Know when I'm beat and all that.”_ _

__“Yeah, something like that. Hate to say it, but he'd probably turn tail and run if you tried getting any closer.”_ _

__“I did notice that, yeah.”_ _

__“Then just let him readjust on his own for awhile,” Nick said, forcefully pulling Tony into a warm hug. It was startling enough to make Tony freeze for a moment because Nick Fury just did not hug, not ever. But he held Tony tight for a long moment, a clear sign that he was either more drunk than he seemed, or even more worked up than he had admitted to, “We'll all still be here when you get back.”_ _

__Tony nodded into Nick's neck, “Sure.”_ _

__“Be safe, kid,” he said, a little more quietly, before pulling back and nudging Tony toward the door. “It'll work out, you'll see.”_ _

__“You seem like you know something that I don't,” he muttered, as he stepped out the door. “I don't like when you know something I don't.”_ _

__“Yeah, but you ought to be used to it after all these years.”_ _

__He barked out a laugh as he backed away, raising a hand to press to his heart, “Now, why you gotta do me like that, Nick?”_ _

__He shook his head and watched him go, “Go, you insufferable brat. Some of us have work to do.”_ _

__“Yeah, yeah. Take care, old man. I'll see you and Phil soon,” he said with a wave as he stepped into the elevator. Downstairs, Happy was waiting, hopefully with those burgers he'd asked for. He'd shove the man into the passenger's seat and drive them both to the airport at an ill-advised speed. Then they would get on a plane and fly away, and pretend that he wasn't really just running away._ _

__He gave another wave as the doors slid shut and leaned back against the wall, taking a deep breath to steel himself. Tomorrow he would be in Malibu, and real life would slowly creep back in around him, the world speeding back up again. Maybe, even if just for the moment, it was for the best._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bother me on [tumblr](http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/) if you're into that sort of thing, I guess


	15. NOTE 11-26-15

Okay, first, I am not Al, vonherder, or whatever else she goes by around these parts. My name is Jay and I am her _Delete My Internet History If I Die, Update My Blog If I Go To Prison_ person.

Second, she is NOT dead! I promise! Nor is she incarcerated. She is, however, in the hospital still at the moment. The reason you're all just getting an update now is because I had not been given express permission by either her or her family to put any information out there. But she did just give me the go ahead and she did approve this message.

Okay, so, this past August Al was in a pretty bad wreck. Right side of her body got a bit knocked about, but it wasn't _bad_ bad; broken wrist/hand, dislocated shoulder and a few cracked ribs. All things considered, she got off easy. So that was all fine, she was recovering pretty well, she'd been dictating new chapters and junk to her boyfriend so she could just jump in and start posing stuff once she could type and edit again.

And then they got into another car accident.

Al spent two and a half weeks in a coma, on top of quite a few more broken bones and other injuries. So far there have been no signs of any lasting brain trauma, so she should make a full recovery. She's doing good, hasn't lost any memories that we've noticed, she's sharp and she's been keeping all of her story lines/details straight as she and Dave go through everything. That being said, coming out of a coma sucks balls and piling injury on top of injury doesn't do anyone any good, so physical recovery is taking some time.

BUT. As I mentioned above, she and her boyfriend—Dave, you may talk to him some in the future—have been sort of writing more things (she's been talking and he's been scribbling furiously in notebooks) so he and I are going to work together to get it all typed up so it is easier for Al to edit and junk. 

So, a three person team will be furiously working on things for the foreseeable future and hopefully we can get you some updates soon like she had been trying to do before shit hit the car. Dave and I are both writers/reporters for the same newspaper, so it isn't like she's getting inexperienced help, but... Neither of us write fiction and neither of us are even remotely certain how to operate this site—but he's been exploring so hopefully we don't screw anything up—so if you have any quick tips, they would be welcome. Dave himself is apparently super into The Man From UNCLE, so he has started his first foray into fanfiction—fiction in general, actually—by starting a story somewhere on the kink meme thing and getting Al's mildly amused input on it as he goes along and it is super adorable. Starting slow, but at least we're starting something, right? 

Dave has been compiling a huge list of things for her to read/have read to her while she's stuck in bed, but if you have any recs she says that you are all totally welcome to send them along also—in any fandom or pairing, just anything you think she'd like or enjoy.

If you need to reach either of us for any reason, after today I think it has been decided that Dave will take over the inbox here and I will head up watching over her tumblr account—I've been doing really well considering I spent most of September forgetting which blog I was on and updating hers instead of my own because I don't pay attention, more fool me. We'll try to keep updating as she goes along and I'm going to, if possible, leave this note up until she's back on her own—is there a way to do that when you add a chapter here? I can't tell.

I'm putting this note on all three of her unfinished stories here, if there is anywhere else I need to put it, let me know. I could have missed something.

PERTINENT NEWS!

1) When I finally figure out how to read Dave's handwriting and add a new chapter to _You'll have such a nice surprise_ , it will be under a new title, she just hasn't told me what that will be yet. I will have both an edited first chapter and a completely new 2nd chapter to add once she approves and nit picks anything that I fucked up on whilst typing.

2) Al had been working on editing all of the existing chapters of _At least I then I could be bitter_ before the crash, so I believe that is the main thing she and Dave are going to continue working on as she figures out where to go with it.

3) No significant news for _Down from the divide_. That mess—goddamn, Dave, learn how to write print because you're cursive sucks—is next after I parse through and get Al's approval on _YHSANS_.

So, I think that is everything—and, wow, way longer than I had intended. Anything immediate, I will be glued to this computer for the next 10 or so hours. I believe she has anonymous asks on her tumblr. If not, I will allow those for the time being. Tumblr: http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/

If you have any love to send her, Dave and I will be in and out pretty much constantly so she should get an update of your messages almost every day.

I think that's is it for the moment, off to work now. Just hit us up, we'll answer everything as best we can or we'll ask Al when we next see her.


End file.
